


It Never Happened! (series #4 - collection #2)

by sweepeaspatch



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweepeaspatch/pseuds/sweepeaspatch
Summary: A continuation of total denial until my dying day.
Relationships: Camille Bordey/Richard Poole
Comments: 54
Kudos: 17





	1. It Could Be A Wonderful Life - part 1 of 12

**Author's Note:**

> Story Listings:  
> 1\. It Could Be A Wonderful Life (12 parts)  
> 2...WiP...

_**It was sheer torture to watch S3 - S4E4 whereupon Camille left the island. This story is based on the notes I made while hiding behind my hands. If they seem a bit sketchy, blame the tears. Normally I double and triple check my facts before posting… but nothing can induce me to watch it again. Nothing.  
The only reason I watched it in the first place was ‘farfromhome’s’ observation that several S3 episodes were obviously written for Richard’s character with hasty edits tacked on to make way for The Goof. And she was right, as always. Thanks ffh for helping me over a major hurdle once again. S/P**_

_**This is my Christmas 2020 story - I will post every 2 days and finish on Boxing Day**_

**It Could Be A Wonderful Life**  
Part 1 of 12  


Detective Inspector Richard Poole stands on his veranda, stiff with hot frustration, shaking his fist at the heavens, the deep-blue-sliding-into-indigo heavens, and curses his fate! He’d almost managed it! He’d almost been granted his most fervent wish! His wish to go home. Go home!! To finally – finally – FINALLY – go home!

The Commissioner had thwarted him. The case had thwarted him. Even his own stubborn bloody-mindedness and the island itself had thwarted him. Yet, any and all of these hurdles he might have managed of overcome… except for one tiny little detail that he could never have predicted. This one tiny detail had scuppered him good and proper, hadn’t it? And what was this tiny detail that had ultimately defeated him so soundly?

A baby.

Yes, his downfall had been caused by one innocent blameless morsel of a girl-child who had chosen the absolute wrong time to come into this benighted tropical world - to make him be in the wrong place at the wrong time - with no bars of reception on his cell phone!

Yes, he’d been undone by a baby, of all things, a soft, sweet, tender, cooing, up-chucking baby. Now he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or simply give up and go drown himself. _If I did, how long would it take them to realize I’m missing,_ he wonders morosely. He groans, _Days, probably. If they notice at all._

Richard Poole abruptly slams down his lukewarm beer and shakes BOTH fists at the gin-clear sky, his face ugly with rage and suffused with the colour of betrayal, of subterfuge, of bitterest injustice. He’d almost had it! It had been within his grasp! Only to slip away like smoke, like mirrors, like a trick. 

Yes, a trick! Somehow, he knows he was tricked. Probably by the Commissioner. After all, no one else knew about the job offer back in England, did they? And he certainly couldn’t blame baby Rosie despite the fact that her first act in Life was to sick up on his only tie! No, he’d simply been made a fool yet again by an uncaring world, by uncaring people who didn’t give a fardling trump for him!

He jolts his fists down onto the veranda railing and grits his teeth as enraged tears squeeze out of his shuttered eyes and he vows… he vows… he takes a deep breath, throws back his head, and roars, “I WISH I WAS GOING HOME! I WISH I’D MADE THAT PHONE CALL AND THEY’D SAID ‘YES’! I WISH, OH, HOW I WISH I WAS BACK IN ENGLAND!!”

Into the resultant ringing silence, a small voice seems to whisper **\- - - do you mean that? - - -**

His head is down again as he grinds his knuckles into the warped railing, welcoming the pain, daring the splinters. He nods vigorously and mutters, “Oh, yes, I mean it. I’ve never meant anything more in my whole life. Please, please, PLEASE, let me go hooooome.” This last word sounds like the long drawn-out moan of a whipped dog trapped by the rope around its neck.

The booming hush holds for another moment as his plea hangs in the air, then… 

Lightning! Out of a clear blue sky! Richard is shocked and blinded by a huge strobe of x-ray actinic light. He throws up his arms to protect his eyes. The glare slowly fades as he squints between his fingers, blinking against the after-image, cringing as he waits for the shattering BOOM that must follow. 

But it never comes. 

Instead, a soft tap on the shoulder makes him whirl around in surprise and there is an elderly man standing behind him in a rumpled suit, hat in hand, shuffling his feet, and looking a trifle sheepish. In fact, the man looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than here. Richard looks quickly about. _Where had this man come from? Is he dangerous? Should I be worried?_

The man holds up the shabby battered hat and jogs it at Richard and huffs, “No! No need to worry, Richard, I’m not dangerous. I’m merely a messenger.” Then he bends over, hands on knees, and wheezes like he’s run a long way, fine wispy white hair wafting down over his lined face.

Richard looks over the man’s shoulder. There are no footprints in the sand at the bottom of the stairs. He takes a step away, a little thrill of fear running down his back. _It’s got to be a lucky guess,_ he thinks. _I know I didn’t say that aloud._ He swallows, stands his ground, “Who are you? What are you doing here? This is a private home and I’d like you to leave, please.”

The man straightens up, smooths back his hair, and regards Richard sadly, “I know. Look, you’re unhappy here, that’s plain to see. Would you like to talk? I might be able to help. I’m a good listener.”

Now Richard feels anger welling up in his chest, “Are you? You’re not giving a very good demonstration of your skills… and how dare you presume to know me? I don’t know you from Adam! Please leave! I’ve just suffered a catastrophic disappointment and I want to be alone.”

The man tries to smile, “Do you? Do you really? I know you don’t know me but I know YOU, Richard; I know your whole life story. And, no, I’m not Adam, he’s retired, has very little to do with the world now. I’m… well, I’ve been called Clarence so you can call me that.” He holds out a pudgy hand and waits.

Richard frowns, folds his arms up in rude rejection, “Clarence? I know of no Clarence and if you don’t get off my property, I’m calling the police.”

Clarence withdraws his hand, frowns, “But you’re the police, aren’t you? Did I get my facts wrong?” At Richards’ blank look, Clarence pulls some papers out of his worn jacket-pocket and glances through them. “No, no, I’m not wrong. It says right here that you’re the Chief of Police and you’ve been here for one year doing a splendid job of keeping the peace.” He stuffs the papers back into the pocket, “Now, why would you want to leave this paradise where you are so obviously needed, hmm? Why would you want to go back to…” he sneaks a quick peek at the papers again “…Croydon?”

Richard’s eyebrows fly up, “Needed?” He scoffs snarkily, “No one needs me here. The team can function just fine without me. I want to go home. Yes, even to Croydon!” Then he flushes and mumbles, “And no one can convince me otherwise, not you, not anyone.”

Clarence looks alarmed, shuffles his feet some more, gestures helplessly with his hat, “Um, oh, er…”

“Yesss?” Richard hisses, fed up, fists clenching.

“Well, what if I could show you some things, hmm? There’s a lot going to happen that you don’t know about, some things that you need to find out about, just so you can make an informed decision…”

Richard takes a menacing step forward, “Look, Clarence, it’s late and I’m tired and you really need to…” 

Clarence grabs Richard’s elbow jerkily and says… or SOME thing says **\- - - look then - - -**

Richard’s body snaps erect in a bone-crunching rictus as a confusing jumble of colour, sound, smell, and sensation roars through him like a hot wind. He’s drowning in wild ocean surf, turning inside out, stretching thin then folding up like origami. He shudders uncontrollably as images clash sickeningly in his mind’s eye. Just when he thinks his head will explode, the sounds begin to mute, the kaleidoscope begins to dim, fades, and flickers to blessed blackness. 

When he comes back to himself with a start, he’s bathed in oily sweat and collapsed into a wicker chair, his arms and legs twisted as if boneless. Clarence is wafting that decrepit hat at him and trying to give him some much-needed air... not that it helps.

Richard unfolds himself and passes a weak and trembling hand across his cold face, trying not to throw up, as his eyes dart about looking for hard reality, trying to anchor himself in the here and now, searching for sanity and not sure if he’ll find it. What he DOES see are Clarence’s kind worried faded blue eyes and this is what he fastens onto.

Richard sits up, swallows, “What…” he croaks, gulps faintly, and tries again, “What in the tin-plated hell was THAT? What just happened? Did you drug me?”  
END – part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thanks of 'OldProf' for relating the Olde English meaning of the word 'Trump', haha, S/P**


	2. It Could Be A Wonderful Life - part 2 of 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dealing with S4 Episodes 1-4 in this story for reasons that I hope become apparent later on. This chapter and the next are about S4E1. If you haven't watched the episodes, I hope you can follow the story regardless. S/P

Part 2 of 12  
Clarence straightens up, looks affronted, “Hell is NOT tin-plated!” Then he looks down at himself as if checking for cloven hooves and a tail before looking back at the groggy Richard, “And do I look like a demon to you?” He crosses his arms, taps his foot, “Well, do I?”

“No,” Richard mumbles, trying to calm down, trying to get a grip. But those images that had flooded his mind! Horrible! He frantically tries to sort through them. So much! There was so much! He can’t get a handle on any of it, just bits and pieces, like parts of a jigsaw puzzle with no picture to guide him.

He shakes his head, mumbles “I saw a black hole in the earth, was it a grave? And nuns – horrid nuns! A blind doctor and a flayed body, Sainte-Marie in ruins, a parrot on my shoulder…” He runs down, scrubbing at his face, trying to make sense of his vision or nightmare or whatever it was.

Clarence sits down, puts an arm around Richard’s shoulders, pats his arm, “The dizziness will go away soon, just try to relax.” He sits back with a little huff, laces his hands over his stomach, saying low, “What else did you see? I’m amazed you can recall so much. Most people just throw up at this point.”

Richard gives Clarence a filthy look then sits bolt upright and blurts, “Camille! Crying! Why is she crying? It’s not Catherine, is it? Does something happen to Catherine?” At Clarence’s head shake, Richard drops his head into his hands and groans, “Oh, my whole body hurts. I saw an empty wheelchair, a rubber duck, candles flickering, Fidel a Sergeant… and so many crimes!”

He casts a questioning look to Clarence, “I saw crime scenes but… but not the bodies. Why couldn’t I see the bodies? I could see everything else but not the victims.” He throws himself forward, “Oh, I think I AM going to be sick!”

Clarence nods and rubs Richard’s shivering back, “You saw only the quick because the dead are beyond the veil. They have ‘Moved On’, as we say.” He puts a gentle hand on Richard’s nape, “Here, put your head between your knees and take deep slow breaths, I’m told it helps.”

Richard nods, accepting this totally illogical statement then freezes as another memory flares up like napalm. He jerks back upright, staring into Clarence’s surprised eyes, and moans, “Anderson! Did I really see Doug Anderson here? On the island? Oh, god, that would be purest torture! Please tell me it isn’t true.” He clutches at Clarence’s sleeve, his whole heart pleading through his eyes. 

Clarence pulls his papers out and checks them, “Anderson, Anderson, hmm, um, yes, here he is.” He reads for a moment then stuffs the papers out of sight again. “Yes, this Anderson character shows up alright… but if you go home now then none of it matters. Or, I should say, it still matters but you aren’t here so the ending changes. ALL the endings change because the cases aren’t solved by you.”

The image of Doug Anderson behind bars scorches Richard’s brain like fiery rain. He shoots to his feet, thrumming with desperate righteous wrath, grabs Clarence by the lapels and shouts, “Oh, PLEASE tell me that man ends up where he truly belongs!”

Clarence pries Richard off, smooths down his crumpled suit, and mumbles, “He’ll go back to England, marry again, and plan another murder. But that’s none of your concern, is it? You’ll be back where you want to be and no one will be the wiser. Not him. Not you. And certainly not his victims.”

Richard clutches his temples and totters around in a small circle, his very soul howling with anguish. _Anderson! Anderson, here within my grasp where I’m backed by a team that will actually HELP me! Here where I can finally nail his greasy hide to the wall!_ The image of a lion rushing out of tall grass flits, here and gone, making no sense at all. He shakes his head and groans, “Oh, this is SO wrong! Are you telling me that my vision of Anderson in my jail cell is never going to happen? Not if I… if I…” He can’t say the words. _Anderson! Anderson behind bars!! Maybe there IS a god after all!_

Clarence takes Richard’s cold hands, pats him, soothes him, sitting him back down. “Yes,” he huffs, “your decision will affect your future and the future of everyone in your future. Cause and Effect, yes?” He runs an eye over Richard, “Now, how do you feel? Better?” 

Richard chuffs a jittery laugh, “How do I feel? Like I’m going crazy, that’s how. But, yes, better, no thanks to you.”

Clarence leans in, checks Richard’s eyes, nods, “Mmm-hmm, well, good. Then I think it’s time you see the future that you are calling into existence by making this wish, don’t you?”

Richard stiffens under Clarence’s patient pale eyes, “What wish? MY wish? To go home? THAT wish?”

Clarence sighs like he’s heard this many times before, waves his hat, and says, “Yes, that wish.” The air thickens, the veranda floor tilts, there is a rushing sound and a white mist swirls in from nowhere, blocking out the sun, then…

S4E1

… then they are on a street, surrounded by bright sunlight and music and bustling people. Richard looks wildly around. He doesn’t recognize this place. How did they get here? Looking out to sea, he thinks he sees Honoré Bay but it’s from an unfamiliar angle. He gazes into the celebrating crowded street and that’s when he sees Camille approaching at the side of a tall shambling rumpled stranger.

Richard surges forward, holding out a hand and begins to call her name when Clarence’s voice sounds right in his ear, “Shhh, save your breath. She can’t hear you. Or see you.”

Richard turns angrily, “What are you saying? We’re invisible? You’re a lunatic!”

Clarence nods, “Yes, exactly! I mean, no! I’m not a lunatic, I’m an angel. I thought you knew that.” He sees Richard’s alarmed eyes and sighs, “And, yes, we’re invisible. Its two years after you left.” He gestures towards the stranger at Camille’s side, “This is your replacement.” 

Richard pivots to eye the man as Clarence continues, “He tries his best but… well, you know how it is. He got distracted by the island and his personal life. He brought his wife in hopes of saving his marriage but she hated the island. He loves it here but she hated the food, the people, the weather, even your little house.” Clarence frowns, “Do you know, she even hired an exterminator to get rid of Harry?”

Richard blinks in shock. _Harry? Someone tries to kill Harry?_ “What happens,” he whispers woodenly.

Clarence smirks, “She got told in no uncertain terms that a house-lizard is good luck and helps keep the bugs under control. After that, DI Goodman here kept an eagle eye out for mouse-traps and such. They used to fight a lot about it. Anyway, she ultimately went back to England and divorced him by mail.” 

Richard gives the new DI a relieved yet commiserating look. _Poor chap, coming all this way only to get dumped in the end. Still, he DID save Harry._ He mutters to Clarence, “Well, maybe it was for the best. If they weren’t suited then she did the right thing. Now he can start a new life for himself here.”

Clarence pierces Richard with a glance, “Oh, like you did?” Richard jerks and gives Clarence a guilty look. Clarence nods, “Oh, yes, you had the same chance when you came here… to start fresh… to make a new life for yourself… but you didn’t, did you? You didn’t even try.” 

Richard hangs his head, digs a toe into the pavement, “Well, I was busy, you know? Busy solving Charlie’s murder then busy with starving and cleaning and heat stroke and fever and more cases…”

Clarence snaps his fingers, “Yes! The cases, the cases YOU should have worked on… they fell to him…” he points to the tall blond man “… and DI Goodman was too distracted by his personal life to solve the murders like you did, Douglas Anderson being the biggest misfire to date.” 

Richard turns stricken eyes to Clarence but Clarence just smiles, “Yes, Anderson leaves the island a free man. However, Fidel caught the palladium clue so Sainte-Marie is still safe, no thanks to you.”

But Richard is only listening with half an ear, “Palladium? What’s palladium got to do with anything?” then something that has been bothering him for many minutes now bubbles to the surface. “Huh,” he mutters, “she never dressed like that for ME.” He’s staring at the lovely blue dress Camille is wearing and suddenly needs to hear what’s being discussed. He rushes forward and reaches Camille’s side just in time to hear her explain Fête Mouri.

He listens and hears that this whole celebration is so that the spirits of the dead can be commanded to move on to the afterlife. Richard gusts a sigh, yet another bizarre island custom he’s never heard about. But something about the idea of this celebration upsets Richard mightily. He looks about; skulls, skeletons, coffins, images of death. He feels strangely drawn yet repelled, pushed away from Camille, from the street, from the town. For an instant, he feels like he’s floating in a vast nothingness that echoes with despair and remorse.

He shakes his head, grabs Clarence’s steadying hand, “Why do I suddenly feel like I’ve one foot in the grave? What are you doing to me? You DID drug me, didn’t you?”

“No, Richard,” Clarence murmurs, “I’m just showing you what will be if your wish is granted.”

Richard claps a hand to his forehead, “I’m dreaming! That’s it! I fell asleep on my veranda and now I’m having a nightmare.” He turns to Clarence, “Or maybe it’s the fever coming back! There is NO way I’m standing here in the middle of the street talking to an invisible angel! I’ve got to wake up, I’ve got to…”

Before Richard can finish his sentence, he sees Catherine walk out of a strange little bar across the street. He also sees the bar’s sign, notes the misspelling, notes the new location, wonders briefly then shrugs it off. Right now he doesn’t care that he’s at the wrong end of town at the wrong building with the wrong name. He needs help! Catherine is a trusted friend even if she IS French. He turns to her blindly. She will help him. 

But Catherine walks right past him and holds out a complicated drink to the strange DI. Richard hesitates, listens, frowns, “She named a DRINK after him? She never did that for me. Why does HE get such special treatment?”

Clarence tut-tuts, “She made you drinks once, remember? You spurned the first one then spit out the second one all over the table and practically accused her of trying to poison you.”

Richard shrugs a trifle guiltily, “Oh, yeah, well… the first one was uncalled for AND on fire! The second one was lime! What can I say?” He drops his eyes, mutters fretfully, “She might have tried again.”

Clarence crosses his arms, “Would you have accepted it from her? A third friendly gesture? Not just anyone can turn the other cheek endlessly, you know, and keep trying when they are spurned over and over again. Take it from me. I have a perfect role model and I should know.”

“Well… um…” Richard straightens up, looks a bit shifty, “Yes, I might have! Probably. Maybe. I don’t really know. No one’s ever tried more than once, I don’t think.”

Clarence turns away, looking unconvinced, “Mmm-hmm, no one? No one at all? You can’t think of anyone here on the island that tried over and over again to be your friend without success? Someone you denied time and time again no matter how much they wanted to befriend you?” Now it is Richard’s turn to shuffle his feet and bite his lip. Clarence nods with confidence, “You spurned all their efforts, didn’t you? Every single one. No wonder you feel so alone.” He marches away, frowning.

Richard chases after him, sputtering excuses that now sound lame even to his own ears. 

Clarence doesn’t look back. He waves his hat over his shoulder and the mists swirl up once more, blanking the street scene into white oblivion. Richard grabs onto Clarence’s shoulder just in the nick of time as nothingness envelopes them both.  
END – part 2


	3. It Could Be A Wonderful Life - part 3 of 12

Part 3 of 12  
Now they are in a small darkened room where a single candle flickers dim light on five people holding hands around a table. “Oh, what’s this now?” Richard grumps, “It looks like a bad Hammer movie.” His attention is drawn to an older woman dressed in some sort of fortune-teller costume. 

Clarence makes shushing motions just as the woman’s head jerks up and she looks cautiously around. “I thought we were contacting a woman,” she grunts, “Why do I hear a man’s voice instead?” 

Clarence grabs Richard’s arm, whispers into his ear, “Whoops, no talking, she must have real talent.”

Richard reaches out, somehow compelled to ring a nearby bell but Clarence grabs his hand, shakes his head, mutters, “That won’t work for you, not yet, because you’re not… um… ah… not…”

Richard barks, making the woman jump in her chair and turn to look right at him, “I’m not WHAT yet? Dead? Well, obviously!” He sees the furtive look on Clarence’s face and growls, “Why do I want to ring that bell so badly? What aren’t you telling me?” 

Clarence shakes his head once more, waves his hat, the mist floods in, and just before Richard fades away he hears the woman ask, “Does anyone here know an angry little man in a suit?”

The mist rolls back and now Richard is standing on a wide veranda listening to a young man tell Camille and the new DI a story about seeing a ghost when he was a boy, right over there, in that building. Richard’s head shoots up and he marches right into the indicated derelict barrel store without needing a door. He spies the newer section of wall and calls out to Clarence, “Something is behind this wall, I’ll wager. Camille needs to check on missing persons!”

Clarence smirks, almost says ‘Why don’t you just take a quick look?’ then decides not to and gives a flick of the hat instead. After all, he isn’t here to help Richard solve a mystery. Well, not THIS mystery.

Now they are on a rubbish-strewn street down by the harbour and Richard jumps in fright when he hears a massive voice boom out right behind him. He whirls to see his Commissioner frowning thunderously after a fleeing man. Richard simply goggles, “My god, I never heard him raise his voice before! Thank goodness he never shouted at ME like that, I would have run too.” Then he sees Dwayne give chase at the Commissioner’s behest and gestures bossily, chuckling, “That’s right, Dwayne! You’d better hustle if you know what’s good for you! I ran down Gordon Foster and you can do the same!”

Clarence waits until Dwayne is out of sight then flaps his hat, interrupting Richard’s merriment.

Now they are at Richard’s beach house, watching Camille climb in through one of the windows.

“What’s going on?” Richard huffs, scandalized, “She never did that when I lived here.” Within moments he is further surprised by the conversation between the new DI and Camille, telling Clarence, “We never talked about things like this, movies and such.” Then he hesitates, “So, she likes popcorn, does she?” Then he is intrigued, “She’s never watched a scary movie before?”

Something about this whole scene bothers him and within seconds he has a very bad feeling. He may be a total zero when it comes to women but even HE can tell this new DI is putting the moves on Camille! Awkward moves to be sure but moves just the same. He is just about to say something disparaging to Clarence about the new DI’s clumsy wooing technique when… hat flick… 

… and they are somewhere dark surrounded by stacks of shrouded objects.

Richard is just drawing breath to tell Clarence to stop with the abrupt scene changes when Camille pops up out of nowhere with a loud roar. Richard screams in frightful unison with the new DI then laughs as the man falls over and disappears. As Camille helps the new DI back to his feet, Richard turns to Clarence and says proudly, “Isn’t she something? He’s no match for her. They aren’t suited at all.” 

Clarence nods sadly, “Not like she was suited to you, is that what you mean?” This wipes the smile off Richard’s face but he doesn’t say anything in reply as Clarence moves his hat.

Now they are in the street listening to Camille tell the new DI how silly a certain movie is because the main characters wait ten years to confess how they feel for one another. Richard nods, automatically taking Camille’s side, then notices Clarence’s knowing look. “What?” Richard blurts, feeling slightly flustered, “They’re just discussing a movie. It’s not like real life where people keep secrets for all kinds of good reasons and not just for fear of rejection or feelings of inferiority… er… not that I ever... um…”

Clarence sighs, “Some secrets shouldn’t be kept, Richard, surely you know that,” and does the flick.

Now they watch the new Di find the beach lock-box like a magic trick, using a mystery key to open it, and obviously impressing Camille mightily. Richard frowns and mutters, “It was a lucky guess. I bet Fidel would have spotted that too.”

Clarence looks up, “Fidel? Why not you?”

Richard shuffles his brogues, “Oh, well, the sand, you know.”

Clarence huffs, “Besides, Fidel’s gone.”

Richard jerks in shock, “Fidel? Gone? Gone where?” Green eyes are pinned onto faded blue.

Clarence shrugs, “Another island. St. Lucia. A year ago.”

Richard groans, “But why? Why would he leave? He was showing such promise!”

Clarence just shrugs again and jogs the hat.

They are looking down a garbage-strewn alley at a very wide uniformed back and when the Commissioner jumps over a pig’s tether on his way to the back door of a house, Richard is distracted enough to gawp, “I have NEVER seen the man move like that! Now I know I’m delirious!” Then he whirls to Clarence, “Now, about Fidel…”

Instead of engaging Richard in discussion, Clarence lifts his hat. Now the flicks come fast and furious and Richard starts to feel a bit nauseous again.  
\- - - - - - - - - -   
He hears a snippet of conversation and mutters, “The victim had an affair with his friend’s missing wife? Locate her! Did she really leave the island? We need to talk to her...”  
\- - - - - - - - - -   
Goodman and Dwayne are tapping on the barrel store walls and Richard shudders, “You wouldn’t catch ME banging about in the dark in all that dirt and spider webs! Not for anything!”

“No?” Clarence muses, “But, you do, I mean you will… I mean you might… for HER sake… if you stay.”

Richard just stares, shuddering anew. Would he? Well, of course he would! He’s a gentleman after all!  
\- - - - - - - - - -   
The new DI is doing his big reveal and Richard realizes that no one finger-printed the murder weapon or the crime scene points of egress! “Fidel could have solved this whole thing within minutes!” he howls indignantly then hushes as he remembers. Fidel is gone.

Clarence tut-tuts with a wagging finger, “Ah, ah, ah! Fidel isn’t here, is he? And why is that, I wonder? Why did he leave? Why didn’t he stay to further his career and improve his life like he was doing?”

Richard shuffles his feet in guilty confusion and doesn’t know what to say.  
\- - - - - - - - - -   
Camille is telling the new DI she has a date with an old school friend and needs to make more of an effort on the dating scene. When she asks ‘How do I look?’, both the new DI and Richard say ‘Beautiful’ in stereo. That’s when Richard jerks a jealous eye onto the new DI and studies the man for a long time as the man gazes helplessly after Camille, the love-light plain to see all over his homely face.

Clarence mutters a trifle gleefully, “Uh oh, looks like there might be trouble in paradise here.”

“Nonsense,” Richard grits out through clenched teeth, “She’s got more sense than to fall for someone like him! And HE should have more sense than to allow himself feelings for HER.” His face feels strangely hot and he notices his hands are fisted so he carefully opens them, wondering at his ire.

“Hmm, yes, maybe, but she’s pretty lonesome, you know, ever since you left her high and dry.”

This time Richard’s brogues are nailed to the floor and he can’t think of a single thing to say in response. His brain is strenuously shouting frantic denials while his mouth hangs open, speechless. He’s actually glad when the white mist descends once more, saving him from having to defend himself against such an egregious, baseless, and totally unprofessional accusation. 

You always know where you are with a white mist. 

You never know where you are with an angel.

Or a French woman.   
END – part 3


	4. It Could Be A Wonderful Life - part 4 of 12

Part 4 of 12   
S4 E2  
The new DI staggers into the beach house, soaked in sweat and puffing from an obviously overdue morning jog, to greet a searching Camille, and Richard shouts, “Here now! That’s totally uncalled for! His shirt is practically transparent!” He stays huffy and marches out with Camille to let the man change in privacy. He leans against a post beside her as she looks out over the ocean and grumps to Clarence, “He needs to be more careful. What if she’d walked in on him while he was undressed?”

Clarence studies the empty sky, “You entertained her more than once in your pyjamas, did you not?”

Richard flushes, “That’s not the same thing! She always caught me unawares and I couldn’t let her see how it unnerved me so I just soldiered on as best I could despite the embarrassment.”

Clarence looks at another bit of sky, “But not on the night of the snake, remember? You knew she was coming then so why didn’t you throw on a robe at least?”

Richard is caught out, “Well, I… um… I was… I was distraught! My robe was inside and the snake was inside so I… I…” He feels the condemning blush rising higher and fights it mightily.

“Mmm-hmm, but that doesn’t explain all her early morning arrivals, does it?”

Richard huffs a bit, “Yes, well, she had a very annoying habit of showing up before I was ready for her.” He frowns and mutters, “It’s a bloody good thing I never took her advice, wasn’t it?” At Clarence’s raised eyebrows, Richard is forced to explain, “Her advice to… to… you know… sleep in the nude.” Now it is HIS turn to study the empty sky as his blush deepens.

Clarence smiles and a catchy little tune is suddenly heard, seeming to fall out of the air all around them. Almost like a tango but not. Jazzy. Sultry. Richard nods to distract Clarence from the dangerous topic of pyjamas or the lack thereof, “Nice tune, where’s it coming from?”

Clarence shrugs, “It’s nowhere and everywhere. It could be your tune, your theme, if you like.”

Richard looks baffled, drops the subject, but he likes the silvery tone of the bells or xylophone. It’s almost angelic. But that sassy little accordion or whatever it is, that is most flirty. For some reason, it makes him think of Camille... and that makes him nervous! He’s almost glad when Clarence starts flipping his hat in quick succession and they fast-forward once more.  
\- - - - - - - - - -   
No foot prints in the sand below the Surf Shop window. Richard chirps, “Aha! If someone used the window, they had to go UP! I’ve seen THIS before!”  
\- - - - - - - - - -   
At the surfing beach, Richard is agog as he watches Camille scramble out of the waves with her board, “She SURFS? How come I didn’t know this?”

Clarence raises a tufted eyebrow, “Why would you? You hate the sun, the sand, AND the sea.”

Richard voice is garrulous, “Well, I could have watched, from afar, from a safe place. I could have cheered her on, supported her, help carry the board or something. I’m not the boss 24/7, you know.”

“Aren’t you? And maybe she surfs in abbreviated swim wear sometimes, hmm?”

Richard blushes afresh. “For a so-called angel, your mind seems to spend an awful lot of time in the gutter,” he mutters but is helpless to prevent the image of a tiny bikini popping into his head, a navy polka-dot bikini that has figured large in his dreams for quite a while now.   
\- - - - - - - - - -   
Its night, Camille and the new DI sit on the prow of the beached ‘Roast Beef’ drinking beers. Richard is VERY interested to hear her talking about her date from the night before. He bristles at her comment about ‘kissing a lot of frogs’.

“Why does that bother you?” the angel asks quietly.

Richard is caught short and dithers, “It doesn’t, um, no, of course not, why should it? She’s right; a cautious person has to guard their heart assiduously at all times.” He tries to look unconcerned but fails.

Clarence looks a bit sad, “And how do you know this? Did you kiss a lot of frogs?”

Richard sighs deeply, hangs his head, and murmurs, “No, I’m afraid I never… um…”

Clarence lays an understanding hand on Richard’s shoulder but nothing more is said.  
\- - - - - - - - - -   
Camille and a female officer are gossiping about Dwayne in the station. Richard listens and marvels to Clarence, “Do all women gang up on us like that?”

“Like what?” Clarence asks but Richard is already distracted by the women’s next comments.

Richard hears Camille speak about the new DI, “He’s brilliant. He thinks of things you wouldn’t believe and…” then watches as the subject of their gossip spills his coffee and wipes it up with a sock pulled from a jacket pocket. Richard cringes as the women laugh quietly about the new DI being so very English. He turns to Clarence, “Did she… did she ever talk about ME like that?”

“Like what?” Clarence repeats, already knowing.

“Well, you know, with pride maybe, with a little bit of… um…” A hand wave tries to finish the thought.

Clarence thinks for a moment then smiles, “Affection?”

Richard bites his lip, looks away, nods, not trusting his voice or his eyes.

Clarence shakes his head, “No, there was no one here for her to confide in. Women don’t talk about men they admire with other men. I mean, don’t get me wrong, your officers were all good friends but… Camille was all alone here, really, wasn’t she?”

Richard nods sadly, “Yes, she was but, still, she could have confided in me just the tiniest bit.”

Clarence furrows his brow, wondering if this man is finally getting the message, “Oh? Why?”

Richard bursts out with exasperation, “So I could have stood a chance of understanding her! I never knew what she was thinking! I never knew… I never knew what she really thought of me. If I’d had the smallest idea of how she saw me, I might have… might have…” 

Clarence quirks his eyebrows hopefully, waiting for the break-through.

But Richard suddenly deflates, “I might have done things… a little differently, that’s all.”

Clarence nods, gazing into the distance, “Mmm, yes, like taken her up on the offer of drinks on The Night of the Red Dress?”

Richard snaps alert, “What? What red dress? Which night? I don’t…”

Clarence comes back to himself and looks contrite, “Oops, pardon me. That night won’t happen now, sorry. If you leave, it never happens so forget I said anything, OK?”

Richard is a bit wild-eyed. Something about those words – _The Night of the Red Dress_ – is pushing all his buttons. Somehow he can hear the capital letters ringing jubilantly in his head. He’s dying for more information but Clarence is bustling away. Richard chases after him and swallows his questions.

Swallows them but doesn’t forget them. No. In fact, the list of questions has been building in his heart for some time now and he can’t pretend they aren’t there anymore. The questions have been on a slow burn for a year and he has managed to ignore them… but now they are flaring up hotter and hotter with each passing vision. He very much fears that he is losing control of his emotions.

And that is never a good thing.  
END – part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**The tune Richard hears on his beach is on the 2015 Death in Paradise CD, track 21, titled ‘Richard and Camille’, an original score by Magnus Fiennes. It is glorious, much too short , and never used in any episode of S1-2, at least not on my version of the DVDs (Region 1). Pity. I am also very curious whether it will FINALLY be heard by the rightful pair in Season 10.**_


	5. It Could Be A Wonderful Life - part 5 of 12

Part 5 of 12  
Now they are in the station at the white board while the team reviews. At one point Richard murmurs, “Never rule out suicide, Camille,” and when Goodman mutters his little poem Richard gives him a condescending look, “A riddle, the answer is ‘a riddle’. Which means a secret. That’s not much help, HG. Every case is fraught with secrets. We have five suspects ergo five secrets. You need to ferret each one out and each one will lead to more secrets. That’s how it works.”

“Not always,” Clarence muses from behind Richard, making Richard turn to look at him. Clarence smiles, “Sometimes there’s only one secret but it’s so closely guarded that it’s never discovered and the case is never solved. The perpetrator is never caught and the victim never finds peace.”

“Nonsense,” Richard scoffs, “No secret can be kept forever! Sooner or later, it will out.”

Clarence nods, “Mmm-hmm, but in order for this particular secret to do any good, it needs to out NOW and not years too late when no one can do anything about it. People can’t simply divorce and run off…” Clarence hushes again and turns his back, “Whoops, sorry, I misspoke again, me and my big mouth.”

Richard is almost ready to take Clarence to task. WHAT secret? WHOSE divorce? Run off WHERE? With WHO? But then he hears Florence and Dwayne’s comments and his ears perk up. They are discussing their senior officers! Now this is more like it! He listens then frowns, turns to Clarence, “Do my junior officers talk about me too?”

Clarence shrugs, “You’d have to ask them.”

Richard’s eyes flare in alarm, “Oh! I couldn’t possibly!”

“Why not?”

Richard mutters sullenly, clacking a heel, “Because they’d tell me.”

“And you’re not sure you want to hear it?” A tiny nod. “Why not? Are you afraid they don’t like you?” A tiny shrug. “Or are you more afraid that they do?” A scarlet blush. Clarence beams in triumph, “Ah, I see, something ELSE for you to fret over, hmm?”  
\- - - - - - - - - -   
Now they are on a beach and Camille is chasing down a suspect. Richard sighs with admiration, “Just look at how she moves! I never got to stand aside like this to watch her in action before.”

Clarence nods with fatherly indulgence, “Poetry in motion, wot?”

This bon mot is met with an enthusiastic head bob, “Oh, absolutely!” then a quick rebuttal, “But, then again, she IS a trained officer in peak physical condition as mandated by the…” He sees Clarence’s knowing smirk and mutters, “Oh, shut up!” before shutting up himself with a gurgle.  
\- - - - - - - - - -   
At the station, Dwayne struggles with the fingerprint sheets. Richard watches briefly then snorts, “Pshaw! Fidel or I can do them with one eye closed! In fact, Fidel is learning to memorize the team’s prints so as to speed up exclusion at a crime scene just like I can. ”

“Yes, Fidel had great potential, didn’t he? Pity.”

Richard rounds on Clarence, “HAD? What do you mean ‘HAD’? Doesn’t he still have it?”

Clarence bobs on his heels, “Great potential needs a great example to emulate. He needed a true mentor. The gifted pupil needs the sterling teacher. The promising novice needs the proven master.”

Richard looks devastated, “So… with me gone back to England…?”

Clarence murmurs, “Fidel never finds what he seeks.”

Richard doesn’t want to accept this, “Never? Not even on his own? That boy has such drive!” Clarence just shakes his head and Richard bites his lip, his eyes troubled.  
\- - - - - - - - - -   
When one of the suspects admits to Camille and Goodman that she’d lied about knowing the victim, Richard nods at Camille’s knowing look and mutters, “Yeah, she gets it! But look at HIM! C’mon, Camille, explain it to him.” He shakes his head again, “The man is clueless.”

Clarence nods, “Rather like you were. Once. You were lucky to have her at your side to explain things to you, weren’t you?”

Richard backs off, flaps a hand, turns away, “Yeah, well, that was her strength, after all. I got a bit better at it eventually. I guess she rubbed off on me a little. It’s a two-way street. After all, I couldn’t spend so much time in her company and not learn a thing or two.”

“Mmm,” Clarence mutters too low for Richard to hear, “Except the thing you really needed to know.”  
END – part 5


	6. It Could Be A Wonderful Life - part 6 of 12

Part 6 of 12   
At the station, Florence quizzes Dwayne about cataloging the evidence and Richard explodes, “What? That’s standard operating procedure! This lax policing wouldn’t be tolerated under MY watch!”

“No, but it’s happening now and that’s not good for Sainte-Marie, is it?” Clarence murmurs.

“No, it isn’t.” Richard frowns, worried, wondering if this new officer is up to the task?

Clarence must be a mind-reader because he echoes Richard’s thoughts exactly! “Maybe this Florence Cassell can straighten things out. She’s made friends with Camille, has got Dwayne jumping through hoops, and she’s trying to figure out Goodman.”

“Yes!” Richard blurts out angrily, “And maybe she can’t! How am I to trust a young woman still wet behind the ears to get my station up and running ship-shape and Bristol-fashion while Goodman finds his feet or before Camille notices that things are falling apart?”

Clarence leans in, grinning, “Pardon me, ship-shape and what?”

Richard chops a tense hand, “Never mind.” He studies Florence’s smug looks to the flustered Dwayne and mutters, “She’d better not be another Lily Thomson!” then groans, “Oh, Fidel, why did you leave?”

Clarence gives Richard a reproachful look, “He left because you weren’t here to hold him.”

Richard returns the look with a guilty maybe-beginning-to-understand-and-accept look of his own.   
\- - - - - - - - - -   
They are going over the clues yet again at the whiteboard. Goodman is flailing away and finally says, “Someone appears to be cleverer than us and they’re watching us go around in circles.”

Richard grunts a small surly ‘harrumph’, “Not all that difficult, if you ask ME.”

Clarence turns to Richard, “Oh? You’ve heard all the clues so far. Who did it?”

There is an embarrassed pause, “Well, um, I wasn’t paying attention for some of it. I…”

“Oh? So what WERE you paying attention to, hmm?”

Richard jerks a stiff thumb over his shoulder to Goodman, “HIM, mostly,” then a quiet sad look and a forlorn wave of the hand, “and… and… them. They’re both different.”

Clarence feigns surprise, “Who is? How are they different?”

Richard slaps his thighs and shouts, gesturing angrily, “THEM! Both of them! Dwayne is loud and sloppy and brash. He’s not fit for my purposes. I really thought he was coming along but…” He pauses then continues quietly, “And her…” Now he swivels to stare at Camille, “She’s brittle, strident, less emphatic, more brusque. Where is the gentle, accepting, understanding woman I’ve come to…”

Clarence waits a polite beat before tossing out a suggestion, “... love?”

Richard actually jumps and his eye rolls wildly, “NO! I was going to say ‘depend upon’.”

“Mmm-hmm, so you say. But, Richard, I can see into the near future, not much, but a bit, so I KNOW that isn’t the word you were going to say at all. It’s awful difficult to lie to an angel, you know.”

Richard shuffles his feet and keeps his head down. He doesn’t know quite what to think anymore.  
\- - - - - - - - - -   
At Dante Point, Richard gapes when ‘Nicky’ turns at Camille’s shout then practically yowls as the man sweeps Camille into a twirling embrace, turning to Clarence in umbrage, “Cam? He calls her CAM?!”

Clarence hides his smile at Richard’s flared nostrils, pulled down mouth, and blazing green eyes, “Yes, Cam. They’re old friends, you see. When you came here, she gave up all of her youthful hobbies in order to concentrate on you… on you on the job, I mean. It took up all her thoughts.”

Richard swings to Clarence, “Me? I did? All her thoughts?” There is a faint gleam in his eye and hesitancy on his face. Now he really doesn’t know quite what to think but he feels something bubbling just below his not-so-calm surface and he isn’t sure if he can trust it or not.

Clarence then turns away, “Oops, I misspoke once again. Please forgive me.”

As the two unseen visitors follow Camille along the beach, her hand curled so familiarly around Nicky’s trim waist, it causes TWO Englishmen (one visible, one not) to fretfully pat their stomachs and frown at the ripped tattooed man before them. 

“Good god,” Richard practically whimpers, “not another one.”

Clarence looks over to his charge, “Another what?”

Richard lifts a NOT ripped arm at Nicky, “Another sculpted stud muffin. Where does she find them?” 

Clarence muses for a moment then says, “Maybe she doesn’t find them. Maybe they find her?”

Richard flushes darkly, “Oh! Like that’s supposed to make me feel better? Men shouldn’t come sniffing around beautiful women just because they’re… they’re…” He isn’t quite sure how to end that sentence and still sound like a gentleman.

Clarence nods in total agreement, “Yes, just because they are totally alone and on their own with no true love in their life or a steady firm bedrock upon which to build a future? Every good woman deserves an equally good man, don’t you think? Or, in her case, an exceptional one?”

Richard’s eyes dart to Clarence but the angel is watching the sky again. Richard jerks a quick glance, almost afraid of what he might see up there but it’s just clouds. “Um,” he tries, thinks better of it, and falls silent. Sometimes it’s better to NOT dig the hole any deeper.

When Goodman jumps in to interrupt Nicky’s flirty question to Camille about ‘what’s in it for me?’ with ‘The eternal gratitude of law enforcement’, Richard pumps a fist and hisses, “Yes!” and makes to clap Goodman on the shoulder but his hand passes right through so Goodman gets an awkward fist pump instead while Clarence smirks.  
\- - - - - - - - - -   
At the misspelled ‘Caz’s Bar’ on the wrong end of the beach, Richard is trying to convince Clarence to take him back home when he hears something and he whirls. He listens with glaring eyes as Goodman actually has the absolute GALL to ask Catherine for advice on how to get Camille’s attention! 

“Catherine isn’t fooled! I can tell!” Richard growls. But when Catherine gives a knowing smile and actually starts to ANSWER Goodman, Richard suddenly drops to his knees and leans both elbows onto the tabletop, gazing up raptly and listening very carefully.

Clarence leans down and pokes Richard’s shoulder, “Didn’t you want to leave?”

Richard waves a rude finger at the angel, “Shhh!” He is very pleased when Catherine agrees that Camille’s dates never end well. “Good,” he mutters then groans when Catherine admits how much she'd loved Nicky. “I just bet she did!” he hisses, “Who wouldn’t? Think of the beautiful grandchildren!”

And when Goodman asks, “Why is Camille on her own? What is she looking for in a man?”, Catherine has TWO mesmerized Englishmen’s complete attention – but it is Richard Poole who whips out notepad and pen, hands poised to capture whatever secret this world-wise French woman is going to reveal about her enigmatic, unfathomable, unattainable, hypnotic daughter.

When Catherine says Camille has been out with handsome men, even beautiful men, both Poole and Goodman frown. When she says some of the men were very intelligent, both men sit up a bit but then slump once more when the point is passed by as if unimportant. Then they both sigh at the words ‘funny and charming’. They both know what that means. 

It means Camille Bordey is indeed in a league of her own and far above mere mortal man.

It also means neither one of them, not DI Goodman and certainly not Richard Poole, has a hope in hell.  
END – part 6


	7. It Could Be A Wonderful Life - part 7 of 12

Part 7 of 12   
Catherine carries on, “But none of them was enough for my Cammy. And why?” Four eyebrows lift in expectation. “Only she knows…” Four eyebrows slide down in frustration. “… but she obviously wants something more.” There is a long pause as three brains think this puzzle over; two seething helplessly in male cluelessness, one wise in the ways of what a woman really wants.

The fourth brain is busy reading all the touristy arrows nailed to the joke signpost and listening with a knowing smile, his back politely turned.

Catherine decides to take pity on this obviously smitten newcomer, “Maybe not just a man who excites her and who she can admire but maybe also a man who can inspire her.” Her eyes see only the one man, totally missing the second man, the invisible man, the man practically kneeling at her feet in supplication, the man who she has just described to a perfect effing T without anyone realizing it, especially not that perfect man himself, which just serves to make him all the more perfect.

Behind this little trio, Clarence merely sighs but says nothing.

As Catherine nudges a green drink towards the silent Goodman, Richard leaps to his feet in frustration, “Can that be right? Can it be true? She’s had handsome, even beautiful! She’s had smart. She’s had funny. But she needs more? How can that be? Who is handsome, smart, funny, AND inspirational? It’s impossible! Such a man doesn’t exit! And if he DOES… I’ll bloody well want to marry him myself!”

Richard slumps in despair, “Oh, Clarence, it’s hopeless... I’M hopeless. I’ve held off for so long, wishing for a miracle, but even her own mother knows the truth… that Camille deserves so much more than anything I can possibly offer. She deserves the epitome of manhood – and wherever will she find THAT?” He wallows in self-pity, turns away, shambles off to the west, subconsciously heading for La Kaz’s old location where he’d found solace so many times before.

Clarence follows, pats Richard’s shoulder, “Take heart, Richard, don’t you remember your night trapped together during the big storm?” Richard’s sudden halt almost catches the angel unawares as he continues trying to soothe, “What did she tell you then, don’t you remember? Didn’t she say that you weren’t by yourself anymore?”

Richard forces himself to nod like he remembers – but he doesn’t because it hasn’t happened yet, Clarence is mixing up his time-lines again! “Why, yes,” he muses slowly, “I think she did. And she said something else too, didn’t she? What was it now?” He makes a big show of trying to recall.

Clarence snaps his fingers, “That’s right, she did. She said you weren’t alone anymore and that she rather liked your sense of humour.”

Richard swings about, trying desperately to believe, “No! She didn’t really say that, did she?”

Clarence nods, “She said ‘I quite like it’.” That’s what she said. What did she mean, do you think?”

Richard chuffs an angry sigh, “Honestly, I haven’t a clue. Do you have any insight into that… that… event?” He can’t bring himself to say ‘night’. That word is too fraught with deadly weight.

Clarence nods, “Mmm, perhaps it was the trust you showed her, your ability to please her with your shy talk, giving her a deeper insight into yourself. You shared your feelings with her. You made her laugh. Your mind was still working the case but you opened up to her. You showed her you were human and just a man after all.” Clarence waits a beat then says, “Don’t you know what you did that night?”

Richard shudders, hoping Clarence isn’t going to tell him something awful, “What? What did I do?” 

Clarence DOES tell him something awful, something earth-shattering, “You inspired her… like you always did… to strive harder, to be better, to try to keep up with you on every level you would allow.”

Richard is reluctantly relieved to hear that he hadn’t done or said anything disastrous and wipes the cold sweat off his brow. Then he freezes in shock, realizing what Clarence has just said, “Me? Inspire HER? Allow HER to keep up?” He thinks furiously before giving grudging acceptance, “Well, yes, all right, I’ll concede the point… but only professionally. She’s a damn good detective. I’ve never denied it.”

Clarence gives Richard a hard stare, “Ah, but there’s something you HAVE denied, isn’t there? You’ve denied it for almost a year now with her - and every single minute here with me. Something we both know is bothering you quite a lot.” He rushes on before Richard can stop him, “Your a-TRACT-tion to her! We both know you’re in love with her but you won’t admit it! Not even to yourself!” He shakes a stern finger in Richard’s face, “Oh, I TOLD you it’s almost impossible to lie to an angel.” He settles back then, crosses his arms, huffs, “There, I said it, someone HAD to and you weren’t helping. Now, isn’t it about time we finally discussed it?”

Richard’s eyes are wide and fixed on Clarence. He gulps. Suddenly Clarence doesn’t look like a bumbling old man in a shabby suit.

Suddenly he looks like a blazing avenging angel from The Old Testament.  
END – part 7


	8. It Could Be A Wonderful Life - part 8 of 12

Part 8 of 12  
Flustered fidgeting, stammered words, and hot cheeks is the only response Clarence gets… but it says everything that needs to be said, very loudly and very clearly. 

Clarence watches Richard flounder then takes pity. _If only this stroppy Englishman would accept it! What do I have to do, give him a wack upside that stubborn British head of his?_ He clasps Richard’s arm and says in a soothing voice, “Here, calm down. Let me give you a brief glimpse of something that will happen… if you stay… if you change your mind. It might help to settle your doubts and prove that your detective instincts have not failed you about all those little moments you were always so unsure about; her tender words, her flirtatious little actions, the long looks that confuse you so badly. Maybe they will all make a bit more sense if I show you… The Night Of The Red Dress."

Richard’s nape prickles when he hears those words again. Something. Something about those words causes his skin to ripple and his scalp to pull tight. He doesn’t even get a chance to refuse. Clarence waves his hat dramatically and images flood Richard’s mind for a blissful second – there - then gone.

The images are gone… but the memory is engraved on his heart. Richard is riven in place, eyes wide and awash with some enormous emotion too big for his chest to contain. It threatens to overwhelm him, drown him, destroy him, save him, “Oh, Angel,” he trembles, “can it… can it be true? Does she? Could I? Might we? Really?”

Clarence plops the hat back onto his head firmly, “It can. She does. You could. You might. If you want to. Do you want to?” Green shimmer is the only answer he gets but Clarence interprets it correctly. After several tactful moments, he inquires, “Do you wish to continue with me?”

Richard swallows the choking tightness in his throat and covers his eyes. He’s worn out. Emotional trauma can be SO tiring! He moans, “Not really, I think you’ve made your point. Now I have to… have to come to terms with it.” He drops his hand, looks up with curiosity, “Do they solve the case?”

“Yes.”

Richard covers his eyes again, nods once, “It was suicide. Probably for the life insurance but the particulars don’t really matter. Will Camille be OK if we stop now?”

Clarence purses his lips, “Well, yes and no. Goodman continues to stumble along trying to get her romantic attention but she has no interest in him whatsoever. In fact…”

Richard huffs possessively, “Well, of course not, she’s got better sense than THAT!”

“Care to see? Just a little bit more? Just so you have all the facts?”

Richard shrugs tiredly, “Do I need more? Do you think it will help?”

Clarence sweeps off his hat, waves it, “Couldn’t hurt.” The mists thunder in.  
\- - - - - - - - - -  
They are at Dante Point once more. Camille charges out of the surf with every curve, every swell, every hollow lovingly squeezed into black neoprene and she is running right at Richard! His mouth goes dry and all his hair bristles as he holds out his arms to her - and she runs right through him!

He pivots angrily to see her run up to an equally suited Goodman then his pulse jumps and his body temperature plummets when he hears Camille tell Goodman that he’s fearless, that she worries about him, that his risk-taking is inspiring, and that he makes her smile.

Richard turns burning betrayed eyes to Clarence and stutters, “You told me she has no interest in him whatsoever! What do you call THIS?”

Clarence merely shrugs and Richard swings back to join Goodman in watching Camille saunter off to get the beer. Richard hears the man mutter ‘Be brave’ to himself twice. Yes, Goodman says it twice, not knowing that he is looking directly into the green aghast eyes of a fellow Englishman who hears these words peal harshly like the fell knells of doom just before the mist blots everything out!  
\- - - - - - - - - -  
S4 E3  
Richard watches all through the next case, tormented by what he sees as Camille’s warming response to Goodman’s inept wooing. He is on absolute tender hooks when Goodman almost professes his love – then is equally gobsmacked when she reveals that she has been offered an undercover position back in Paris!

When Camille walks away, she leaves two wrung-out Englishmen standing forlornly in her wake. Richard stirs first. He tries to lay a commiserating hand onto Goodman’s shoulder which surprises Clarence mightily. Richard shrugs, “Oh, well, I DO feel sorry for the goof. He can’t help loving her. Who can?”

Clarence nods but doesn’t say anything, only looks up, hat in hand, as the mist drops down from above.  
\- - - - - - - - - -  
In the station, Richard groans as he watches the Commissioner hand over the release form to Goodman that will decide Camille’s fate. He rounds on Clarence, “He’ll never let her go, will he? If he loves her half as much as…” His mouth snaps shut and he bites his lip.

Clarence finishes the sentence, “… half as much as you do?” He sees Richard is not going to rise to the verbal bait so he continues, “Would you let her go if it were up to you?

Agonized eyes dart about the room but finally Richard murmurs, “Yes, if she really wanted to leave me… I mean the island… then I would never stand in her way. Although…” he covers his eyes.

Clarence leans forward, trying to catch Richard’s gaze, “Although?”

Richard speaks low from beneath his sheltering hand, “Although it would tear my heart out.”

Clarence pats Richard’s shoulder, “There, there. If it’s one thing I’ve learned over the millennia it’s that humans are very pliant. You’ll hurt for a while once she’s gone but, pretty soon, another woman will catch your eye and…” 

Furious molten fire blazes very green! “I would NOT find another Camille Bordey! It’s not even remotely possible so don’t try to placate me with false promises. She’s one of a kind!”

Clarence steps back hastily, caught a bit off-guard which hardly ever happens to his kind, “Yes, well, you may be right. Some people ARE capable of fidelity, or so I’ve been told.”  
END – part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to OldProf1942 for the 'wack upside the head' comment. Is this how guys help other guys in the romance advice department?


	9. It Could Be A Wonderful Life - part 9 of 12

Part 9 of 12  
At Caz’s Bar, when Goodman hands Camille the napkin so she can jot down the Pros and Cons of taking the Paris job, Clarence peers over Richard’s shoulder and says, “Which side do you suppose she’d assign to you, if you were the one deciding her fate here?”

Richard bites his lip, leans over Camille’s shoulder, and points to ‘Con’ with a hopeful face. “Here,” he murmurs into her ear, “this is where you write ‘leaving Richard behind’.”

When Goodman asks Catherine’s opinion about it, Richard nods emphatically and echoes her answer, “Exactly! She loves Camille too much to cage her up, you tosser! You can’t keep her here against her will!” Then he hushes and looks troubled, sinking into an empty chair and frowning.  
\- - - - - - - - - -  
Next morning in the station, Richard stands at Goodman’s elbow as Camille announces her decision to leave and Richard slumps, muttering, “No, no, no, no, Camille!” When Camille walks away, he turns to Goodman and reads the man’s eyes like the morning newspaper. “Say something!” Richard urges him but Goodman is mute. Richard throws up his hands, “Well, that’s that! She’s leaving and he’s going to let her go without argument. Where’s your backbone, man?”  
\- - - - - - - - - -  
When the Commissioner returns, Richard is dumb-founded to hear Goodman tell the big man that he will not release Camille, making Richard pull up short, “What? Now he’s changed his mind?”

Clarence nods, “Yes, he found his backbone, it seems.”

Richard scoffs at Goodman, “Forget the backbone, use your HEAD! Do you think she’ll come to love you if you stand in her way? She’s a stubborn French woman from a long line of stubborn French women! This is NOT how you win her heart!”

Clarence jinks an eyebrow, “Oh? Now you’re an expert on hearts, are you?” He gestures to Goodman, “Backbone, head, heart, what’s next? Does he keep her or let her go? What must a person do when the love of their life wants to leave without knowing how you truly feel about them? Should a person stay quiet and let it happen? Or should a person speak up, risk disappointment, and perhaps change the course of events? Hmm? What would YOU advise him to do, Richard?”

Richard’s mouth works for several seconds before he can find his voice, “I… I… I would advise him to tell her. He needs to get it off his chest. He’ll feel better. Keeping a secret like that locked up is bad for a person; sleepless nights, worrying incessantly about making a slip, having to ignore her all the time, not being able to enjoy the simplest things because she’s always foremost in your mind. Oh, it’s hard.”

Clarence just nods, “Yes, I imagine it is. Funny, isn’t it, how we can give advice but not take it?”

Richard comes out of his sad contemplation and gives Clarence a questioning look then shakes his head, “Look, don’t you go French on me, too. That’s just the sort of thing SHE would say if I asked her for advice. I never understood her and I don’t understand you.” He frowns and digs a toe into the floorboards but he looks a bit shifty, like maybe he DOES understand, a little.  
\- - - - - - - - - -  
S4 E4  
This case catches Richard’s attention! Why wouldn’t it? Another dead bride?! What are the chances? Despite his emotional turmoil, this is a puzzle that he cannot resist. It’s something he can focus on, something to ease his mind about whatever is causing his emotional turmoil. In other words, he loses himself once more in work to avoid the pain and agony of everyday life. 

When Goodman races out of the station and across town to Caz’s Bar, he has a companion racing with him, matching him stride for stride. Lagging behind is a puffing angel. There are three people jammed around that little bar table but only two are throwing shadows as Goodman asks Catherine the only question that matters. About the case. Not about anything else that also needs answers but cannot be asked for fear of those answers.

Just as Clarence staggers onto the scene, he is passed once more by two hurtling bodies that pelt past without compunction. All the way back to the station, Richard shouts out the solution of the murder and it all revolves around the cork! As they run, Richard explains and Goodman nods like he agrees.

Back at the station, Richard speed-reads over Goodman’s shoulder as the man flips through the reports and finds the motive. They both realize it in the same moment and two voices ring out, “AHA!”

Richard looks up as Clarence slumps in the doorway, “What a team we would make!” he says joyously then hushes in sudden realization. _Goodman and Poole? Such a team would ride roughshod over the Croydon crowd. Such a team would cut a swath through the criminal world like a swarm of locusts! But. But, I’m already part of a team, aren’t I? Poole and Bordey? Bordey and Poole?_

Richard begins to pace, oblivious to the tumult surrounding him. _Sure, Goodman has many of my own talents but he lacks what I lack; intuition, emotional empathy, the ability to understand people. For all of that I need… I need…_

Clarence leans on the doorjamb, huffing, but wisely stays quiet.  
\- - - - - - - - - -  
During the Reveal, two Englishmen pace before the suspects but only one voice is heard. Just as well because the other voice is garrulous, “What a grand-standing poser! He’s not going to amount to much without Camille here to keep him grounded.”

“Perhaps,” Clarence muses, sensing Richard is a bit embarrassed to wonder if maybe HE came off as a grand-standing poser at his own Big Reveals, were people laughing at HIM all this time? He lays a calming hand upon Richard’s arm, “They weren’t, Richard, nobody was laughing at you. Mostly they listened with fascination, like hearing a murder mystery on the radio. You held them spell-bound. You intrigued everyone, not just her. They respected you because you earned it.”

Richard smiles his thanks, his worry drying up as the mist thickens once more.  
\- - - - - - - - - -  
When the mist clears, everyone is crowded around Camille down at the ferry dock. 

Richard groans, “What’s happening? Why is everyone here?” He frantically elbows his way to the Commissioner’s side just in time to hear all the heart-felt goodbyes. He can’t seem to catch his breath. Then he sees her glances and his heart lurches, “Who is she looking for? Goodman isn’t here, is it him?” Hot jealousy wells up at the thought of his rival and he says brusquely, “She needs to get on the ferry and not waste time waiting for HIM!” 

Then all the kisses catch his attention and he groans again, “She’s leaving! She’s really really leaving! Oh, Camille, don’t go, please don’t go.” He leans forward but he’s only air. Then he shouts in jealous rage as Goodman rushes up and Camille’s smile whips his wounded heart with tongues of fire. _Was she really waiting for this haystack to arrive? Surely not! Oh, Camille, tell me it isn’t so!_

Then Richard yelps and his misery doubles as Goodman leans in and kisses her! Right on the lips!!! In front of everyone! A mist descends and this time it isn’t white. It’s red! He growls and runs at the man, tries to push him off the dock, but is rushed by Officers Cassell and Myers and has to dance out of the way as they grab Goodman to save him from tumbling into the water due to his own clumsiness. 

Then madness roars up in Richard’s head and he is rushing along the dock, racing to keep up with the ferry as it takes the only woman he’s ever cherished away forever. He hits the end of the dock at full speed and leaps, heels tucked up as neat as you please, arms thrown wide, gaze fixed on the only thing that matters to him now, a fierce grin glinting shark-bright. 

A billowing fury of grey smoke and swirling dark energy blazes in his wake, almost like gigantic wings, but he doesn’t see it. All he sees is Camille; his hope, his heart, his salvation. 

Clarence sees it though, sees it, and his chin drops. He snatches out his notes and frantically pages through them but doesn’t find an explanation. Finally, he pockets the notes and watches as…

… Richard lands with a neat 10.0 score and whirls to lean on the railing and yell back at Goodman, “Yoicks, you loser, I’m going with her! You let her go and now you pay the price! You stay here without her while I…” he turns with great satisfaction and glowing heart, starts to put an arm around her, “… while I stay here. At her side. Where I finally know I belong.” 

His ferocious grin lasts a few seconds then begins to fade in puzzlement as the world begins to fade, draining of colour and sound. He spins around but Camille is also fading; fading, fading, fading, gone. Richard now stands in a formless white void with Clarence facing him, eyes wary. “What happened?!!” Richard all but screams in confusion and loss, “Where is she? Where’s Camille? I want Camille!!!”

The Angel smiles sadly, “You said it yourself, Richard, ‘You let her go and now you pay the price’.”

There is a stunned moment of stark realization before Richard truly screams and drops to his knees, his world crashing down in flaming ruin all around him. He might be forgiven for thinking Clarence is a demon after all as he howls like a demented spirit facing eternal torment, his anguish soul-searing and crushing, as he faces eternal damnation unending and unbearable.

Camille. Camille is gone. His true angel is gone and he is alone alone alone. 

He huddles into himself, shoulders heaving, hands clenched over his face. 

His doom is upon him.  
END – part 9


	10. It Could Be A Wonderful Life - part 10 of 12

Part 10 of 12   
When Richard finally comes back to himself, he is weeping like a child on Clarence’s shoulder. Clarence is kneeling beside him, holding him up, wiping his cheeks with an old decrepit handkerchief, “There, there,” he croons, “It’s good that you’ve finally let it all out. Here now, dry your eyes.” He sits back on his heels and says quietly, “Now, don’t you feel better?”

Richard clutches at the Angel’s hands, gasping, “NO! I DON’T! All this time…” he swipes at his cheek “… all this time, I fought my attraction to her when I could have just let it HAPPEN! She and I could be together and happy right NOW. We could pair up and I’d finally be happy for the first time in my life.” He looks up into Clarence’s kind face, “For the rest of my life… that’s what you really came here to tell me, isn’t it?”

Clarence starts to nod then pauses as a faint cautionary note pings somewhere above their heads. Both men look up. When Richard looks back to Clarence, Clarence suddenly looks a bit uncertain, “Um, I’m not allowed to answer that, sorry.”

Richard gives the angel a wary look, “What? Why not? It’s a straight forward question. Will I be happy if I stay here with Camille or not?”

Clarence fumbles out his papers once more, shuffling, stalling, “Um, oh, I’m sure you’ll be happy…”

Now Richard looks like he expects a trick of some kind, “But? What aren’t you telling me?”

Clarence stares down at whatever angelic script is written on his pages then dekes a shuttered look up to Richard, “Um, oh, I can’t… I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry. It isn’t allowed. You’ll live out your allotted time with her in total happiness and… ”

Now Richard knows something is wrong, dreadfully wrong, “My allotted time? What do you mean, my allotted time? Just how much time do I have left?”

Clarence actually breaks out in a light sweat which shouldn’t be possible but seeing is believing and Richard feels real fear as Clarence shoves the notes back into his pocket and dithers, “Um, oh, er, why don’t we sit down on your veranda once more and talk everything over, hmm?” Clarence turns his back and starts to walk off, the beach appearing beneath his feet, Richard’s little beach house where this mad adventure had started is just beginning to form in the distance.

Richard stands frozen. Everything he is, was, and will be, comes to sudden diamond-hard sharpness. He makes his decision and lunges, jerks the hat off Clarence’s head, and races away, feet flying as if winged. As he runs, he waves the hat, shouting hoarsely, “Show me! Show me the death of Richard Poole!”

A sickening wave of blue washes over him, drowning him as searing pain lances his chest, making him double over. He crashes onto the sand, skidding on shoulder and hip, the hat crushed in his grasp as his blind eyes see… see…

.. a shocked Dwayne clutching a screaming Camille, both of them staring wide-eyed at something right behind him as she shrieks soundlessly over and over. Tears stream down both their faces. Richard spasms in shock, he has never witnessed such abject howling misery first-hand before!

He whirls in blind panic, not knowing what he will see but convinced in his heart that, whatever it is, it will kill him. He whirls then stills. He sees an empty lounger baking in the mid-day sun. Just an empty chair. Oh, and a book lying open upon the seat, its cover casually flipped open as if the reader has been rudely interrupted and called away. Nothing else. There’s nothing there. 

At least… his scalp begins to crawl… at least nothing he can actually see.

Movement to his left makes him look up into the stone-cold eyes of a stranger in uniform. It is with sickening realization that he recognizes an eerily composed Fidel who looks down at the empty chair like his life is over. Richard almost speaks Fidel’s name, he is so relieved to see him again, when his lips fall slack in horror. He has never seen such naked furious hatred before, not on Fidel, and Richard suddenly sees the hard man that Fidel could become, WILL become, if this traumatic event, whatever it is, is allowed to play out.

Richard catches more movement and looks up to a big house looming over him. He has just the briefest glimpse of a blonde woman’s face, her mouth stretched wide in a silent scream. _Who’s that? It looks like… looks like… but surely not! Not Angela Birkett! What’s SHE doing here on the island?_

Now he hears the faintest of sounds. He looks out onto a jungle hillside and hears his name echoing like a plea between the hills, the hills here in the west overlooking a sleepy Honoré down below.

A second cold stab of searing heat blocks everything out and Richard is on the beach again, rolling into his pain, hissing in agony. He feels hands grabbing him, heaving him to his feet. When he can open his eyes, he sees Clarence jamming the crumpled hat back onto his shaggy head with bad grace, looking mostly worried and also maybe just a trifle bit righteous.

Clarence brushes Richard down and grumbles, “You REALLY shouldn’t have done that… but you’ve surprised me a couple of times today so I shouldn’t actually be surprised at all, I guess, but now I’m in a spot of trouble. Thanks a bunch.” Out comes the handkerchief once more.

Richard takes it and scrubs at his face, trying to get a grip, “I didn’t know angels got into trouble, sorry.”

“Yeah, well, it isn’t the first time and it probably won’t be the last so don’t worry too much,” Clarence sighs. They are on the beach house veranda. Clarence guides Richard to a chair, seats him then drops into another. They stare out at the ocean for many long minutes, each thinking their own thoughts, the handkerchief fluttering forgotten in Richard’s hand.  
END – part 10


	11. It Could Be A Wonderful Life - part 11 of 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is Christmas Eve Day and it's raining and the trees are lashing and it sounds like pounding waves on a beach all around. Wunnerful and evocative and just right! Tomorrow is episode one of 'Bridgerton' and very soon now is the highly anticipated and slightly dreaded S10 of the show that needs no introduction. What an end to such an odd year. But, in the meantime, let's finish this story. Here is the penultimate chapter, hope it satisfies.

Part 11 of 12  
Finally, Richard can’t stand the silence for one moment longer and turns to Clarence, “So I die? So soon? Is that what I saw? Their faces! Their terrified awful faces! Was that for me? Could it possibly have been for me? Did they feel so much and I didn’t know?” He drops the handkerchief and grabs the angel’s hand, “Please! You have to tell me! Is Camille all right? Are ANY of them all right? Afterwards? Once I’m really gone?”

Clarence speaks forlornly, “You saw for yourself. Fidel leaves the island, searching for a mentor he can never replace. His future in law enforcement is in question. And poor wee Rosie…”

Richard jerks at this, “Rosie? Rosie Best? What about her?”

The angel just shakes his head, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Her future is dark to me… but I have to wonder… seeing what I’ve seen here today… how will they cope? How will any of them cope?”

Richard is silent as visions of wee Rosie Best growing up without his help well up in his mind’s eye; never sitting out under the trees and identifying all the birds that fly past, never telling her all about an English Christmas, never helping her navigate elementary school and how to handle bullies, none of it. He lifts his weary head, “What about Dwayne? Surely he carries on in my absence? He’s never needed me.”

“You think? Without your steadying influence he will probably carry on right into an early grave with the drinking and the partying and the women. I’d be surprised if he lasts five years.”

Richard feels a tear welling. For Dwayne Myers of all people! “And… and…” he trembles out, “what of Camille? What happens to her?”

“You saw. She goes back to Paris. She will dive back undercover into the world of crime.”

Richard tries to suppress a small sob, “Does SHE survive? Please tell me, will she be happy?”

Clarence enfolds Richard’s hand in his on the tabletop between them, “I’ve been warned, I can’t tell you anything more. I’m here for you, not for anyone else, but you know what undercover police work is like. It’s dangerous, dirty, and hazardous. Where will she ever find peace if not with you, hmmm? Where are the children she yearns for? The grandchildren that Catherine wants so badly?”

Richard does not respond. Another brief memory flashes through his head, something he’d seen just before he’d dropped Clarence’s hat, a peaceful hillside drowsing beneath ancient yew trees with lichened stones standing row on row, an idyllic scene. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was back in England on a sunny summer day, the location seems so familiar. Where has he seen it before? In his childhood? Later? After his grandfa’s funeral perhaps?

That’s when Richard loses his mind. He slips to his knees there on the familiar ground of his own veranda, choking sobs hurting his throat. He blindly clutches the angel’s trouser leg, “Angel! Angel! I take it all back, I don’t want to leave these people… MY people… all on their own! I see now that I’ve done some good here and there’s so much more that I COULD do. I have to stay, I HAVE to! Don’t take me away from this place, from my burgeoning happiness. I’m sorry, I’m SO sorry! I didn’t realize what I was doing when I made that wish. Please send me back! Send me all the way back so I can start over and do everything the right way. Please!” He breaks down in gushing tears and heaving chest, scarcely able to breathe but he forces out one last plea, “… please… have mercy…”

Gentle hands are on Richard’s shoulders, gentle arms pull him to his feet, a gentle embrace slows his tears, a gentle voice whispers in his ear, “I can’t send you all the way back, that would change the past, but I can send you back to when you made the wish. Do you want me to do that?”

Anguished fingers clutch the angels’ collar, “Yes! Yes! Send me back! I’ll never say anything so stupid ever again! I can see where I went wrong, where I went wrong in so many ways! But I can change, can’t I, now that I know? I CAN change and I WILL change. I want to be the man my people need, not to be a disappointment anymore; not to Dwayne or Fidel or Rosie or Camille… oh, Camille…” Desperate strength floods his hands and he actually gives the angel a jerky shake, “Say you’ll do it, yes? Please, say you’ll do it. I’ll promise anything, give anything, if only…”

The angel’s smile darkens as an ominous rumble falls from a cloudless sky, “Will you? Will you really?” Richard rears back, Clarence suddenly seems taller, almost frightening, as he continues, “Just be glad I got to you first then. I don’t think you’d like the price for this ‘get out of jail free card’ if I was batting for the other team. No, I don’t think you’d like it at all.” Dim shadows swirl in Richard’s peripheral vision.

Richard hitches in a frantic breath, “Team? Other team? What do you… you don’t mean…?” Hot icy terror flashes through his veins; he’s standing here with an angel and cannot accept what that means.

Clarence sees the realization dawning in Richard’s eyes, “Oh, yes, they’re here too, you see their sign almost every day in your work… but most people don’t, or won’t, make the connection.” He cocks his head like an eagle, “Just out of curiosity, if I WAS an agent from the other side, would you make this same promise?” His voice deepens, “Would you pay their price? No matter what?”

Richard stares into celestial blue eyes and speaks softly without a qualm straight from his soul, “Yes. I’d pay anything. Anything at all. If you are truly on the side of Good then you must already know that.”

The angel nods, “I DO know that - and it is your final saving grace, Richard, my friend. Wish granted.”  
END – part 11


	12. It Could Be A Wonderful Life - part 12 of 12

Part 12 of 12  
There is a soundless clap of thunder, a blinding flash of actinic light, and Richard is back where he started; on his veranda, beer in hand, fist raised to the heavens, and his mouth stretched wide to shout. 

He snaps his mouth shut with an audible click and drops his beer to cover his eyes as he sinks for the last time onto his sore knees and sobs his heart out with gratitude and keening hope. When he is washed clean, he goes down to the ocean, watches it chase itself up and down the sand for long moments then kicks off his shoes and walks straight out until he is waist-deep. He reaches down, cups a double handful of the caressing waters and christens himself anew, scrubbing away the old Richard Poole.

He looks up into the deep blue vault of the Caribbean sky and whispers, “I am Richard Poole, back from the brink, and I rededicate my life to helping others… but now I will also ease their loneliness and fear.” He rolls his eyes and adds sardonically, “I only hope they don’t lock me up for a lunatic.”

Solemn vow made, he shakes himself off and marches back to his veranda where he stands for many seconds staring down at a bit of rumpled white linen. He carefully picks it up then takes himself inside for a shower. Once dressed in fresh dry clothes, he makes a mug of tea and wanders all over his little house seeing everything with new eyes. He notices Harry watching him keenly.

“Do you see it? Do I seem different?” he asks the little lizard. To his mind, Harry’s tiny head bob is assent. “Hmmm, OK, maybe the others will see it too. See it and believe it. But I mustn’t try to change everything all at once. I’ll start small and work my way up. Let’s see. First things first, I’ll make permanent transfer to Sainte-Marie. Yes. Then I’ll encourage Fidel to take the sergeant’s exam. Then I’ll force Dwayne to shape up and fly right. Then…” He lapses into thoughtful contemplation.

“Camille,” he breathes silently, thinks some more then straightens up, “Yes, I must work on the Camille problem, which isn’t a problem anymore, thank goodness, not now that I know she loves me… or will come to love me. I’m going to surprise her by returning some of her subtle attentions. I really want to see that red dress worn for me and not for any other man.”

As his heart settles and his nerves smooth out, Richard’s mind now shifts into high gear. He calls up everything he remembers about that disturbing scene of his death. Yeah, Clarence had tried very hard to distract him and divert his attention but his eidetic memory roars to the fore and he recalls it all!

The location. High on a hill to the west of Honoré. It’s not likely he’ll forget that!

The setting. A lounger sitting out in the sun on a huge deck by a pool outside a luxury villa.

Witnesses. Yes. Angela Birkett. Anything to do with Ms. Birkett is a dire omen.

And, finally, the date. The innocent book with the Honoré library pocket showing both his name and the date. January 14, 2014. The date of or just before his demise. A date that is seared into his memory. 

Put all the clues together and he has everything he needs to avoid his own death.

He smiles a rictus grin. His death. NOT! He has big plans for his future and dying so soon just isn’t part of it. No. He has a wife to win, a life to live, and children to engender. Oh, yes, he has big BIG plans!

“Sorry, Clarence,” he murmurs as he begins to close up his home for the night, “I hope you don’t get into too much trouble but I don’t intend to let the future play out like it says in my file. I’m going to take an active part in steering my own course, if you don’t mind.”

As he readies for bed, he wonders how many more nights will he have to suffer on his own before he has company. Not too damn many, he hopes! He lays down, imagining another body, lithe and supple, warm and loving, spooned into him, and he smiles happily for the first time in a long time.

As he drifts off to exhausted sleep, his smile is the last thing to leave his face but it burns deep in his heart and he is content. _I’ll give her one week to respond to my wooing. Two weeks, tops. Then I’ll seduce her if I have to. Either way, Camille Bordey is destined to be mine and I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer._ As he sinks, he reminds himself to look up ‘seduction techniques’ online in the morning.

Epilogue  
Two weeks later, it’s ‘Classic British Movies’ on TV Channel Honoré and its showing “The Day of the Triffids”. Six minutes in and Camille squeals as popcorn flies everywhere. She leaps out of her chair and onto his lap, hiding her face against his shoulder where she takes peeks at the TV between her fingers from the safety of his masculine solidity as the soundtrack crescendos and the sound effects slurp. 

The website ‘Women and How to Survive Them’ had warned him of this tactic and so he doesn’t surge to his feet in a panic and dump her unceremoniously onto the floor as the old Richard Poole would have done. Instead, he tenderly crosses his arms over her back, leans his cheek against her temple, and murmurs, “Take it easy, Camille, it’s just a movie, the old man is just an actor,” but inside he’s thinking gleefully, _There’s for your movie idea, Goodman, you TOSSER!_

He feels her tense manner suddenly relax and now she seems preoccupied. The TV is ignored. The website had warned him about this too. She’s either going to retreat or advance, she’s trying to make up her mind… so he decides to help her with that. He brushes the hair off her neck and tucks it behind her ear. He sees her pulse jump at the sleek juncture of jaw and throat and hopes like hell that she’s decided to advance! He watches it speed up, mesmerized, and actually starts a bit when she mutters, “Do it. Please. Just do it.”

He takes a deep breath, lets it out sadly, remembering what the website had advised, “I shouldn’t. I mustn’t take liberties. Not with a fellow officer.” There! That sounded reluctant enough, like a man tempted beyond his ability to resist but still trying to do the decent thing.

She rolls a mad eye to him, “OK, two things. One, it’s not taking liberties when I ask for it, when I BEG for it! And, two, I’m no fellow so, please, just do it!”

He tries to keep the triumph out of his voice as he softly asks, “Do what?” Now he’s a man weakening.

Her eyes slip shut and she lifts her chin to whisper against his cheek, “Kiss me, Richard. Softly. Gently. Thoroughly. As a true gentleman would. As YOU would. Please. Pretty please.”

He waits only for a single heartbeat, it sounds like thunder in his ears, but in that heartbeat he thinks of the worn handkerchief folded with reverence beneath his pillow and whispers, “Thank you, Clarence.” Then he brushes his lips whisper-soft over her pulse point, feeling the silky smoothness of her. He runs his tongue out to tap at the spot, tastes her. She is exquisite; rich and earthy, tangy and sweet, the essence of woman to the core.

Within moments he is experiencing a wardrobe malfunction of monstrous proportions! The gentle night air caresses his skin most wantonly. And HER! Her clothing melts right off her. He would swear to it on a stack of bibles in a court of law! And THEN… 

… but no. He will NEVER tell anyone what happens next.

For who would believe it? 

Even HE doesn’t believe it. 

In fact, it is so incredible that, before it is full dark, he doesn’t believe it twice! In further fact, he gets to disbelieve it for the rest of his life; his long, uninterrupted, newly minted life. Such is the curious fate of a certain shy Englishman who pairs up with a certainly UN-shy Caribbean French woman.

After all, Heaven helps those who help themselves but having a friend in high places is certainly a plus. 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've ever watched this movie, I think you know exactly the moment that made Camille jump. If you haven't watched, you should. Also, I'm thinking she doesn't remember anything past that point. Not about the movie anyway. Richard could tell her but maybe he wants to watch it with her again so doesn't want to spoil future viewings. He's polite that way.


End file.
